Medication
by LoveBlink182
Summary: I'm finally caught. They caged me in a world of white and medicine. Please, Devi...I know I don't deserve it, but you know I love you, and I need you now. More than ever. Save me.
1. World Of White

_**Medication:**_

Chapter One: World of White

I've been living in this apartment for six years. I never painted it. My therapist says color might spark what he calls "emotions" in me. He says I used to experience "emotions" all the time, and sometimes I would let them out violently. He said I didn't "like" people who were mean to me, or treated me poorly.

But who could?

No one likes to be treated poorly, or unreasonably.

...I...I feel a tingle in my diaphragm. My therapist says when that happens; I must immediately take this pill. It's white, with a pink dot in the center. It's got numbers on it, too. He says when I feel a tingle, I have to take it. So I do.

Immediately.

He stressed that word. Quickly, before the tingle develops. Sometimes I think of not taking it to see what the tingle does, but I know that if I did, my therapist would be sorely disappointed. I think it's bad for me.

But I think I'd enjoy the rest of the tingle. But I must do what makes my therapist happy.

And sometimes what makes him happy is not always what makes me happy. And if I make him unhappy, or disappointed, he injects me with something. I don't know what he calls it, but he says it makes me a better person.

I have to see him four times a week, and he's always on call if I ever have "emotions".

Every morning, these men in white uniforms come. They're really great guys. Terribly muscular, in comparison to my small, thin frame. One's named Fred and the other's named Mack. They're nice. They come and take me to my job every morning.

I can't remember much from when I was "emotional". But I do seem to remember myself having darker hair. I have blonde hair now. Blindingly blonde. I like it like that. And even though there's nothing wrong with my vision, my therapist says to have different color eyes from when I was emotional is good, too. So every morning, I wake up exactly at 7:00. I brush my teeth, comb my hair forward, and put these blue-colored contacts in. Then I 'Veet' my face. I don't shave, because I'm not allowed to have a razor. So I used this women's razor less shave stuff. Then I get dressed. Only pastels and tints, I'm not allowed to have shaded clothes.

I like the look. They keep giving me these shakes, so that I gain weight...But for some reason, my body refuses to retain any weight. Doctors tell me it's because of my metabolism. But I think I remember someone telling me I'd look revolting as an obese person...My therapist says its all in my head, though. These memories I have.

Every other day, I scrub my apartment clean. I live in a nice apartment building in the city now. For six years. Instead of with the other patients in the institute.

I cook my own food. Usually pre-made dinners. Again, I'm not allowed to have many sharp things. I just got the privilege of using pens and pencils a couple years ago. Forks, too.

Also, though I never say anything to anyone about this, I keep it my secret, I remember a woman. I'm supposed to tell my therapist whatever I remember about before. But I keep this woman a secret. I think she's special to me. Really special. Short, dark hair, really thin. Green eyes. Normally when I think of her, I get a tingle and I have to take a pill. But I just took a pill a few moments ago, so I think that's canceling out the tingle.

It makes me happy to know that I'm improving vastly.

I'm not allowed to have a TV. Only a radio. And I'm not allowed to listen to music. Just news. My radio is gray.

But other than the dark haired girl...My life is just fine.

I'm good.


	2. For God's Sake!

_**Medication:**_

Chapter Two: For God's Sake!

I'm watching these two big, buff jock-heads escort him to a car. They're taller than him, so they look over his head and crack jokes.

Fucking assholes.

I hate people.

He has blonde hair now, and I think I see some blue eyes in there somewhere. It makes me want to vomit. Vomit my organs up, over and over again. I can't believe he's letting these sick fuckers do these things to him. They must have him doped up.

He's wearing a white collared, button down shirt, and a pale blue wool vest pulled over it, and tan slacks, and dress shoes. I can't believe his hair is blonde.

I wonder if he's ever noticed me over here?

I home here to watch him get on this car in the morning. I didn't believe it was him when I first saw it. I wanted to cry. I wanted to break down, cry and vomit up all my internal organs.

I couldn't eat for a week.

I mean, I know he's insane, and I know he's killed hundreds of people...But a part of me just KNOWS this is wrong. I just know someone's making the biggest mistake of their life, giving him all these meds I just know they're giving him. I want to vomit.

In fact I did the first time. I ran home, in tears, and vomited.

There's something hideously wrong about this.

The first truly free thinker of this century, and they're sending him into LaLa-Land with all this shit. I think today, when he gets home, I might just make a visit upstairs to his apartment. I'll follow him.

Something's got to be done about this.

This is one big, horrendous mistake. I know him. I know him well. He almost killed me. If he misses ONE dose of the meds they're giving him, my god. What he would do when he found out. He would cut his own scalp off. Blind himself. Die of blood loss due to his claw-like hands ripping his own clothes off. He'd streak back to his filthy house next to Squee.

It's been so long. Squee's 16 now. Squee needs to see this. The man that protected him so many times.

I need him back.

I want him back.

I know for a fact I'll make him himself again, I have to. He'll be Johnny the homicidal maniac again if I have to beat it into him.

Which doesn't sound like such a bad idea right about now...


	3. What Makes Me Real?

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Three: What Makes Me **Real**?

I get to my job; I'm a secretary for a very nice lady. She's the head stylist of _Fabu-Locks_, I believe. My therapist lined it up for me.

She calls my name with a harsh voice, but I know it's only because she's such a stressed lady.

"Stewart! STEWART!" she calls.

"Coming." I say.

I think my name used to begin with a P, or maybe an L or something. But my therapist changed it to Stewart Smith.

"Tell that fat bitch Miss Marloe I can't take her this afternoon."

"Right away. And if she asks why?"

"Because she's a horrible, ugly whore. That's why. And I've got a much more expensive client to do."

I swallowed. Sometimes she frightens me. "Right away, ma'am."

"Oh, and Stewart?" she says, just as I turn to leave the room.

"Yes?"

"You're a fag. That's all I wanted. Thanks." She curled her lip at me.

I left swiftly. She gives me tingles. Not the good kind that the dark-haired girl gives me. Bad kinds.

I rush out to the phone, and cancel the appointment with Miss Marloe. She's a bit...Loose. But she's never been openly mean to me, so I can't say much about her.

I go about my day as per usual.

I eat my salad at lunch. I'm not allowed greasy food, or junk food. My therapist says I used to eat it before. I'm not allowed to have tacos, either. Or sporks, for some reason. He says I was very dangerous with a spork. I'm also forbidden from drinks or candies flavored cherry, especially cherry soda, or cherry brainfreezys.

"That's wacky." I smirk, and whisper to myself. My therapist says to use the word 'wacky' in a sentence at least once or twice a day.

He says it's really good for me.

I don't know what to do with myself sometimes.

When I get home, it feels like there's...A part of my day missing, or something like that. It feels like I'm not supposed to be there.

My therapist says it's all in my head, that I should do things like play card games. Solitaire was a suggestion, I think. I should learn another language, since I have the time.

Solitaire.

Language.

Solitaire for my solitary life.

Why learn a language when there's no one to talk to? Sometimes my therapist makes stupid suggestions –

I gasp loudly.

I have the biggest tingle I've ever experienced.

Shakily, I shove my hand in my pocket and take out the little orange pill bottle. I shove a pill in my mouth, and take a swig from my water bottle.

It goes down sticky.

I suddenly get this notion that I shouldn't be taking these pills.

But it quickly passes, just like the tingles.

The pills take immediate effect.

I am calm again. Boy that was weird. I don't like it. At any rate, the rest of the day goes simple, and nice. As usual. Then after here, I see my therapist, then I go home.


	4. Tearin' My Heart Out

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Four: Tearin' My Heart Out

I don't know where he works, but I'm waiting outside his apartment building today. Behind a tree, in case they saw me this morning, I don't want them seeing me again and thinking I'm up to something. Which I am, but fuck them; they don't know what it's like for him.

I see the van pull up to the curb, and they only escort him to the door of his apartment building this time. I guess they figure he knows his way upstairs. It makes sense, though. They only go to his door in the morning to let him know they've arrived.

Jack asses. I fucking hate people.

The van drives away, screeching the tires, and I see Johnny make his way into the building. Some old man sitting on the stoop calls to him. "G'afternoon, Stewart." He says, and my eyes bug the fuck out.

Stewart?

STEWART! They fucking re-named him **_STEWART!_**

I'm going to flip the fuck out on someone, and I'm saving it for the psychologist that stripped him of his life and personality.

Sometimes I don't know why I give such a shit, but I did have a real thing for him. Even though he tried to kill me.

I miss Nny. I can hear his voice in my head. The sweet one, not the insane one. But if he's not killing people anymore...

No. No, it's Nny's WAY to kill people. The people who made him the way he is...

But, no one's being killed...Or injured, or tortured...With Nny the way he was, people got hurt. A lot of people. But now...

Now he's not the same person! Under state, he has to do what his psychologist tells him! Fuckers! They have him doped up so bad it's not even funny. One slip...Just one slip on their part...That's all it would take, and I'd imagine he'd keep them barely alive, just to torture, for years.

I fear the worst.

But maybe...

I don't know.

I just don't know.

I remember seeing it in the paper. The headline, "Gruesome Murderer Finally Caught!" see page three...

It made me shudder, and the fact that the article didn't really tell me anything I didn't already know was frustrating.

I waited for a light to turn on in the building. And a light did about three floors up. I'm guessing it's like apartment 52 or something close. I go through the door and up the staircase, and I knock on the apartment that says 52.

An old woman opens the door.

"Hello, I think I have the wrong apartment."

"Well, darlin', I know every tenant in this building. Just tell me who it is you're a-lookin' for, and I'll tell ya." She said, sweetly smiling and looking up at me.

"I'm looking for John-...I mean Stewart Smith."

"Ahhh, that sweetheart. He's a little too straight-edge and strange, if you ask me. I invited him over for a few shots of whiskey and some supper and he declined, politely, and said his therapist didn't want him drinking anything alcoholic." She said, and pointed down the hall. "Apartment 55, honey. Are you his sister?" she asked.

I played with the hem of my skirt and smiled. "Not exactly." She said, "More like and old, old friend." This lady reminded me of my grandmother...But less insane and Hispanic. This lady looked like an Irish woman.

"O...K...Thank you. Have a nice evening." I say. I think my eyes are wider than wide should actually be...They might just pop out.

_A few shots of whiskey_! What the HELL! Johnny didn't drink when he was insane! He would NEVER do a few shots of **_whiskey_**! But I suppose she was just trying to be hospitable. I'll let it slip.

I walk down the hall and knock on the door.

The door abruptly opens, and I want to puke right there, but I hold it down. I can't believe what he looks like. Blonde hair, blue eyes, pastel colors! This is sick, twisted, and more hideous than anything I've ever drawn, seen him draw, or read about in ANY book, and quite frankly, I think it's an insane intrusion on his personal freedoms.

"Hi." Is all I can really manage to get out of myself right now.

He just stared, wide eyed. His lips parted a little, but I don't think he was going to say anything. I just think it was some kind of shock. But I don't know what kind of shock it could be. Having a visitor, maybe? Because he can't possibly remember who I am with everything they're pumping into him.

He blinked.

I waited, nervously.

And it began.


	5. Still, I'm Not Right

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Five: Still, I'm Not Right

I'm astounded. This is...The girl. The girl with the dark hair. And she's at my door! I can hardly speak!

"...I..." is all I'm able to produce, and even that was a sad attempt.

"Can I come in?" she asked me, but didn't really give me a chance to answer. She just kind of shoved her way in.

"Yes, I suppose." I said, looking at her.

She pushed me away from the door, closed it, and locked it.

"Do you remember me?" she asked.

"Yes...Well...Kind of." I said, not really sure how to explain it, "You're SUPPOSED to be a figment of my imagination. But apparently not..."

"That's because I'm not. I was your..." she faded for a second. I'm not sure why. It kind of seems like she doesn't know how to descri-

"I can't really say girlfriend...I was a date of yours once. We were really close. But then you tried to kill me." She said quickly, all at once.

My eyes must look really wide, because she looks concerned. She fell to her knees and crawled over to me.

"Do you remember anything about before?" she asked.

"Before...The Sleep?" I ask her.

"The...Sleep?" she asked, obviously confused.

"Yes. They said I went to sleep and woke up three weeks later a whole new, better person."

"...So you don't take any medication?"

"Yes, of course I take medication. Come see." I say, and take her by the arm. I bring her to the medicine cabinet. I keep only pills in here. All my cosmetics and things I keep on the counter space of the sink.

I open the door; they're arranged in alphabetical order. Most of them are really large, having to hold a lot of pills in high dosage. I have a collective 53 pill bottles, most of them orange, some of them green. I have one blue one and one red one too.

She looks like she wants to pass out any second.

"Miss?" I say, putting one hand on her back for support.

"My name's Devi, Johnny. There was a time when you wouldn't have forgotten that for the world." She said, sadly.

"Johnny?...Did you know me before the sleep?" I ask. I have to know.

Oh no.

Oh, God, no.

Not now!

Not now! I'm getting a tingle!

Luckily I have them in my pocket...But I don't want to take it! I just don't want to! My therapist won't know...Will he?

I've got to. I must.

I reach into my pocket and take out an orange pill bottle. I open it, and shake one into my hand. I go to put it in my mouth...But...She stops me.

"Don't. Just don't. I can tell you everything you need to know about yourself. And what I can't tell you, someone else can."

This is my chance! I knew this girl was special to me!

"Yes, please...But...I have to take this pi-"

"No." She says and grabs my hand, lowering it. She gently slips the bottle out of my hand. "No. You don't want this stuff. I'm surprised you don't have ulcers or something in your stomach, you asshole. I can't believe you let them do this to you."

"...Them? And I have a medication for the ulcers." I say, "And the side effects."

She sighs, and I wonder why.

At least I know one thing.

Apparently my name used to be Johnny.

I never really thought Stewart Smith was a very fitting title.


	6. You've Been Gone Forever

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Six: Seems Like It's Been Forever That You've Been Gone

I so want to shoot someone right now. He can't even remember his own name.

Poor bastard.

"Nny, this stuff is like poison. You don't know the person you used to be, do you?" I feel sort of sorry for him.

"...No." He says quietly, "But I was content with that."

"You used to...I think we should sit." I suggest. It saves me from having to pull him to the couch or something.

"Yes...Come into my living room." He says, and leads the way.

"It's...Um...Plain." I say. The walls are white. The carpet is white. The furniture is white. There are no pictures. There are no decorations. No posters. No nothing. I think the soap was even white.

"Now what was it you wanted to say?" he asked. He kind of looks a little...desperate. Like he wonders this all the time.

"I came here to make you the guy you were before. Before these fuck-bags got a hold of you. Y'know, I used to pray to whatever god would listen that this would happen to you. You fucked up my life, you asshole! I hated you so much for so long!" I scream, and push his shoulders. He goes back, but catches himself.

"I'm...sorry?" he says, obviously confused. I won't be able to do this without freaking out on him at least ten times.

"We're going to go to your old house tonight. I'll explain on the drive." I say, grabbing him roughly by the arm. He wasn't going to show me any mercy that night; I am DEFINITELY not going to show him any mercy. Prick.

Why am I doing this?

...This is what I wanted, wasn't it? I wanted him to be locked in a cage for the rest of his life for what he's done. But...

Why am I helping this jerk?

I sigh quietly to myself. We get to the door to his apartment, and I feel resistance.

"Johnny?" I turn around.

"I...I have to stay here. I'm not really allowed out." He says, and kind of stares down in shame.

"Nny, come ON." I say, just yanking him out the door.

I don't know what is possessing me to help him, the fucker. All those people...

I suppose I'd just want the same kind of care and help. I'd want my memory back. I wouldn't want a medicine-induced amnesia. I know that for sure. Maybe it's part of me wanting to give him back the life he doesn't deserve.

Asshole.

I throw him in the passenger side of my car and slam it shut. I run around to the other side, and get in and start it, buckling while I back out.

"Buckle." I tell him harshly.

"...Ok..." he squeaks out. I think he thinks I'm mad at him.

Maybe I'm not being fair. Right now he's a completely different person. He doesn't remember how warped he actually...was...

I come to a stop light and think about putting him back in the apartment...Telling him to forget everything we just discussed. Especially his name and mine.

"Johnny...I..." I start, but I look over to him, and his eyes are just so pitiful. He really looks like he wants to remember. He wants to know so badly. I can tell he's thought about this. A lot.

"Yes?" he asks eagerly.

"...I...Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this? I can turn around right now and take you right back to your apartment and you'll never have to know anything."

He kind of gasps. "No! No, Devi. I want to know so badly. Please." He begs.

I hate beggars.

"Fine." I sigh, and decide that it could be for the best.

"Um...I...We...Ok. I used to work for a bookstore. You'd come in every now and then and talk to me. We'd have the greatest conversations..." I say...I can feel tears ever so slightly stinging the backs of my eyes, but I swallow and it's gone. "And then I asked you out on a date. And you accepted. And we saw a movie. And it was fun. Really, really nice..." I gulp, "And then...We went to a cliff that I'm assuming is your own special place. **_Was _**your own special place. Whatever. And then we went back to your place. We talked some more...And then...We leaned in to kiss..." I bite my bottom lip...But...

God dammit...

I'm not going to be able to do...

"We leaned in to kiss...And..."

He's staring at me intently. My God, I wonder what's running through his mind.

"...You left. You left before we kissed. You got all clammy and twitchy – almost hysterical – and left the room. I came looking for you. And you flipped out and pulled some knives on me."

And I heard him gasp. I take my eyes off the road for a second, and look at the expression on his face. One of pure horror. Like he was looking at one of his old paintings or drawings.

"...I..." he says, "I would NEVER do that!"

I'm kind of shocked at his tone, and I furrow my eyebrows involuntarily.

"I would never do something so sick! Never! Especially to you, you're that special girl in my head! And to stay with me like that, you'd HAVE to be something really super-special to me!"

I raise my eyebrow. God, Nny. _Super-special?_ It almost makes me want to cry. This is so fucking sick and twisted it's not even funny. He was so warped...Right now, I'd give anything for him to spout some quirky insult...Cuss up a storm...Something...

But no.

He doesn't, not even something he feels this strongly about. Deep inside I get the feeling that this is the most he's protested or felt in a long, LONG time.

This is sickening.

I hate this. I want him better. Maybe I can make him the Nny I knew him as. The sweet one...

Super-special?

Ugh. God.

Nny...

**_What_ have they _done_ to you?**


	7. Evolution

AN: Ok...I know that the chapters are obscenely short. I'm sorry. I'm trying not to favor one over the other. Ok. And this one is particularly short. I'm tired. It's been a stressful summer. Forgive me.

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Seven: Evolution

I...My...They...

The tingles almost hurt now...Like a sharp pain in my guts.

And I left my medication for it at my apartment.

Oh my god. What if I die? My mouth feels dry...Like, really, REALLY dry. Why am I with her? Do I really trust her like I trust my therapist? Oh god.

What if I hurt more people?

I would NEVER hurt Devi! She's so special to me!

"Why would I hurt you?" I asked, my eyebrows still furrowed.

Her green eyes stayed ahead of her. "I don't know. You said something about rot setting in. I was too scared to really pay all that much attention to what you were saying – I mostly kept my eye on the knives in your hands."

I swallowed... I have to know. "I...Did...How often did an event like this occur?"

She kept silent.

"...Devi! How often!" I almost yell. I didn't know I had the ability to raise my voice so loud, but she seems unaffected.

"I can't answer that. The person we're going to see now can, though. He lived next to you, and he heard it all." She said quietly.

It looked like she was...I don't know...Like she was thinking about something. Inner conflict comes to mind... My therapist says that I had a lot of inner conflict. Maybe she should talk to my therapist.

"Would you like to meet my therapist?" I suggest.

She hits the brakes and stops the car dead and I slam the side of my head into the dashboard. It hurts! I check my temple, no blood, but there'll definitely be a bruise there later.

"Your fucking wonderful fucking shrink suppressed your LIFE, Nny! If I ever fucking met him, **_I'D_** be the one shoving sharp things into his **_ASSHOLE_**!" she screamed.

She's frightening me, and I curl up on the seat and hold the side of my head, which is now pounding and tender.

We peel out and continue our journey, and I'm pretty positive our tire marks are steaming. She gave a quick glance over to me and slowed a little. We pulled over in a much gentler way, and parked the car.

"Listen, Johnny, I'm sorry. Can I see?" she asked, pulling my hands away gently. I guess she feels bad. I show her.

"It's nothing...Just kind of...Hurt." I fibbed. It felt like my brain was in the back seat. She rubbed it a little, and turned back to the steering wheel. She pressed her forehead against it.

This girl is VERY confusing.

"Nny," she says after a while, "The boys name is Squee...He's older now, and I don't know how much he'll remember. But he was there for it all from the time he moved in the house next door up until you moved away." She said. This woman always

I wonder if this boy will like me, this Squee.

"Is he nice?"

"I can't believe you just asked-...Yes. Yes, Nny. He's very nice."

"Were we close?"

She swallows hard, and I don't understand. She has a look on her face that erratically switches between disgust, pain, and sympathy.

"Yes. You liked him a lot. I remember you telling me about him from time to time. You had a pet name for him – Squeegee."

"Oooh, I like that...Squeegee?...Squee...Squee..gee...?" Something's happening. My head...I'm having flashes...

Bactine? A bear?

"Did he have a toy bear? Like, a stuffed animal?" I ask.

Her eyes widen considerably, "Yes, why?" she says excitedly.

"Um...I seem to remember...A bear. I had a flash of a bear. It began with an 's'."

"I believe you once said that it was a 'vile, lint-infested bastard' named Shmee."

I think these flashes are good. They seem to make her happy, anyway. And if she's happy, I'm happy.


	8. Headache and Heartbreak

This is painfully short, and for that I apologize...School's back in session now. I have a lot on my plate, and I love this story as much as you guys, so I'll update as often as I can.

****

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Eight: Headache and Heartbreak

I feel so bad. I didn't mean to hurt him; the thought of him introducing me to his therapist just kind of...shocked me, and instantly enraged me. At the same time.

God, if you're listening...

You're a sick fucking bastard! Why, oh WHY would you ever do this? Aren't you supposed to be fucking peace loving!

I sigh, gripping the steering wheel. This trip to Squee's better freaking work, or someone's going **_DOWN_**.

I turn onto a street. Not a fun street, as it's not alive, and doesn't generally have little kids playing and frolicking in the yards and what not. The houses are nice. Then...There sits Johnny's shack. I personally think it keeps the kids and pets indoors.

"Nny, we're here."

"Was Nny my nick name before?" he asks me.

I press my lips together to keep them from quivering with tears. I don't know what I'm crying for more. Watching someone be completely stripped of their freedom, personality and identity, or watching it happen to _him._ To _Johnny C._ It just makes you sad when you see it happen to some stranger. It's completely different when it's someone you love.

Did I just think that?

Love?

Do I love him? Did I?...Yes. Yes I'm sure I did. I know I did. I fell in love with the good him-The sweet him. The one I had the conversations with, the one I sat on the cliff with. The Nny I knew and loved. Not the warped one who tried to kill me.

...The cliff! I can bring him up there!

After Squee, I can. I need to know. I need _him_ to know.

But maybe...Maybe I don't want to bring everything back. Maybe I don't want to re-introduce him to why he was insane in the first place, to his voices that the papers said, to everything like that. He has to know exactly what he did to people though. I can show him he was a murderer without showing him he was reckless and dangerous when it came to his thought process and reasoning. I don't know what sparked his killing sprees – more often than not it was probably assholes – And I don't particularly want to, even though I have that clue, I just know there's something more. Something I don't particularly want to get involved in.

"You're nick name was Nny cause that's what you liked to be called instead of John, I guess. I can't picture you as a John, actually."

He smiled. "Shall we meet this boy then?" he said.

I smiled back. I hope this works. I so hope this works...

And we unbuckle, and get out of the car.


	9. Changes

AN: I'm so sorry this is so late. I've been SO wrapped up in school. Junior year is so inconceivably stressful. I have a new boyfriend to top it off, too. Life is blatantly insane and even though I don't even do half my work, I feel bogged down. Weekends dedicated to trying to divide my time up between my best friend and my boyfriend. Going to parties, planning my own parties. Just going out and trying to live. I'm quite upset that I haven't been keeping up with this, guys. I swore that besides Summer Colors and November Air, this would be another finished story. We've still got a ways to go. We have to go through Squee, his realization of who he is, how he feels about Devi, his revenge, if he decides to even take it, on the therapist. So much ground to cover! I'm so sorry for the delay! I have a couple random days off this week, so I SHOULD be doing good things. Like updating more frequently. Hehe. It's a bit short, as always. sniff I'm sorry for that too. God. I suck.

****

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Nine: Changes:

We walked wearily up the sidewalk and to the front door. My doctor said I had...have...Whatever the story is now, since this changes everything, a condition known as "bipolar". I think Devi might have this condition. He explained that it's when someone goes from being perfectly fine one moment to being completely vicious and distraught the next. If that definition is correct, I think she's bipolar. She acts like it.

But part of me thinks this might be her. Part of me thinks it's me doing this to her. That it's me now, and the way I apparently was that's pushing her to the brink of utter distraction. I can't remember anything. Such a flicker of hope burned through me when I remembered something as small as the bear that this boy carries. Carried. Who knows how old he is now or how long I've been under such medication.

Another thing about Devi...She constantly looks so stressed. Just completely stressed. I can understand how she feels. Though our concerns are similar, we're not under pressure, or being disturbed by the same things. I beg to remember anything at all. I beg to be able to go without having to take such copious amounts of medication. I pray to whatever god may be listening or attending their post that I can just...remember someone calling me by my name.

"Nny, don't be upset if you can't remember a lot of details before living next door. The way I understood it, you never really remembered anything before here. So just take it slow. Okay?" she asked. She seemed a lot more patient...but you never know with those bi-polar people. One minute they're fine, the next...Whoo. Watch out.

She pushed the doorbell. After muffled screeches and what sounded like a plate shattering, the door opened, and a boy slid out of the house, in unreserved horror and bewilderment apparent on his face. Many of my therapist's patients looked like that. I suppose they weren't as heavily medicated as I seemed to be. At least that's what Devi keeps telling me...That no one should ever be taking that much medicine, ever, for anything. I so desperately want to fill this void in me. I suppose it's a void I always knew was there. Apparently the heavy doses of medications I was on hid it from me and made me unaware of it.

I believe I asked my therapist about it one day. About the meds, I mean. He mumbled something under his breath about being world renowned after this "curing", how he'd have the medical and psychiatric world in his palms. I didn't pay attention, and never really connected it until this moment.

Just then, Devi began to speak.

"Johnny, this is Squee. Squee, remember Johnny? Nny?" she said. And Squee looked at her like she was crazy.

"Yeah...I know who he is, Devi. Why is he HERE though?! I thought-"

"Shhh! Yes, you remember him. Squee...He's not the Nny that used to save you all the time. A therapist got a hold of him and owned his existence."

"...Really?" he asked, his eyes darting from Devi to me. His eyes were big. He was quite tall. Painfully skinny, too. Like myself. I can imagine myself being quite close with a young boy like this.

"...Nny?" he asked, frightened. Somehow I got the sense that was just his personality. Well, in combination with me...But I'm so good. I'm sweet, and polite, and nice. How could anyone ever fear me?

I don't understand. I just don't get it.

How could anyone fear me? I'd never hurt a fly.

I swear I wouldn't.

I'd never, ever hurt anyone. Or even WANT to.

Not that I know of, anyway...


	10. Can You Tell Me?

**_Medication:_**

Chapter Ten: Can You Tell Me?

This was one of those awkward moments in life. Probably one of _the_ most awkward moments either of us had ever experienced.

"...Hi, Squee." Nny said, looking around and trying to break the awkwardness.

"Hello. Devi," he said, and turned towards me, "What's going on?"

"I told you," I started, but he cut me off, "Yes, I know that. The papers all said he was a crazy psychotic killer, and he terrorized me as much as he saved me. You didn't hear the screams at night. And now you bring him here, after I thought my nightmare was over, claiming his reforms are for real, with his bleach blonde hair and his blue contacts? With his brighter eyes? With his new mannerisms, and you want me to attempt to call upon all those horrible things he did to people in his basements? ARE YOU MAD?! I don't want to remember that! I had all I could do just to suppress it enough to sleep at night! And besides! I have SAT's in a month! I can't be doing this dramatic lifestyle changing with those infernal tests upon me-"

"Squee, calm down!" I said finally. He was shaking like a leaf. Like he expected Johnny to rip his new personality off like a sheet of paper and destroy him. God, what this kid must've gone through...

"I don't think you understand how long it took me to close off the tunnel, Devi. It took me TWO YEARS. Two years of concrete, two years of filling up a six foot by six foot circular tunnel, three feet thick. I just needed to feel safe again. I needed to forget. And what you're asking me to do...You're asking me to...To bring back all the horror. The band-aids. The bactine...You're..." tears began to roll down his face, and I suddenly felt like the biggest meanest jerk in the world. He was just trying to live a normal, Nny-free life, and I was being selfish and involving others who survived his reign in my own quest to bring the real Johnny C. back, "You're asking me...To remember Shmee. You're asking for me to remember what he did to me."

"Squee, don't even worry about it." I said. I didn't want to push him to a nervous breakdown, which he was seemingly seconds away from having. "Don't even worry about it. I'm not taking a weapon to your head for not-" I stopped, and the attention of both myself and Squee was drawn to Johnny.

He was blinking erratically, rubbing his face, and his pupils were rapidly twitching around, as though he was watching an intense fight scene in a movie. He was on his knees.

My throat ran dry...

What if he _needed_ some of those medicines I told him not to take?...What if some of them were...For his heart or something? I know it's useless to think of that now, and there's nothing I could do about it now. I should've thought about that before. There was something seriously going wrong with him. I started freaking out inside, and I could feel the shots of adrenaline in my arms as I panicked about what could be wrong.

I know what a novel idea is...How about you fucking ASK him, Devi?!

"Nny! Nny?! Are you alright? Nny, speak to me!!" I was trembling, scared to death of losing him. But I wasn't sure why I needed him so badly...At any rate, it scared the living shit out of me. I screamed his name, falling to my knees. I was scared to touch him, for fear he'd freak out on me and snap my arm out of its socket and beat me with it.

Even Squee seemed a little concerned. "Nny?!"

"Call him Stewart! He might respond to that!" I instructed.

Squee looked at me as if I had ten heads. "Stewart?"

"Yes, they changed his name to Stewart Smith. I just told him today that his name wasn't Stewart. It was Johnny."

"...Was he on medicine?"

"Yes, of course. Do you think he just conformed to their ways upon request?!" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.

"No, I'd never think he'd do something like that. It's giving up his free will, and if there's one thing he lives for, it's just that. The right to live freely and without being subject to interpretation of others...But the medicine...How much was he on?"

"Enough to make him completely forget EVERYTHING that's ever happened to him. It's disgusting! NNY!! Please, I'm begging you! Please, please answer me!" I screamed frantically.

"Nny! List-" Squee started, but stopped abruptly.

He suddenly stopped, and slowly turned his face up to Squee. My blood ran cold, because for a second...For a second, I saw it. That flicker. But it was just a second. A New York minute. An instant. But it was gone. But I'm positive I saw it.

"...Squee..._I guess you should assume everyone is speaking out of some external influence. Believe in whatever makes sense to you..._" he said. Squee almost dropped to the ground.

"Oh...God, Johnny. That night...You saved me that night when I got separated from my mom. That guy was going to molest me, and you gave him what he deserved! Nny! You said that to me! You told me to believe in what makes sense to me and only me!! Nny!" Squee was hysterical, tears streaming down his face.

"I...I remember...I wailed him in the side of the head with a metal pipe...Before he could do anything to you..." Nny said.

I was stunned.

Utterly stunned.

These flashbacks...were a God-send.

Just amazing.

Then, Squee did something I never thought I'd see. He reached out and squeezed Nny. He amazingly just pulled him right into a hug. Holy fuck. This was quite a day. Not to mention the part where Nny hugged him right back. I take it he didn't remember the rest.

Indeed, this was _quite _a day.

Apparently changes are happening all over the place.

"Devi?" Nny asked me.

"Yes?" I asked, quietly watching them.

"I'm getting a sick feeling that that was one of the only good deeds I did, and even that was something warped and probably sick. I can't remember the rest. Just one clip from that one instance. I don't think I want to remember." He said.

My heart sank.

What was I going to do?

He didn't want to be the person he used to be. Not that I wanted him to either, I just wanted him to be the elegant, observant intellectual artist he was before I found out he was a murderer.

"I'll leave that part out. I just want you to be free again." I said softly.

"Devi," he said my name again. It left a prick in my heart, and I don't fucking know why. I keep trying to tell myself he almost killed me. But...

Something's there. I know there's something about it.

"Yes?" I asked.

"...I'm tired."

I looked at Squee, who was still tearing. He nodded. "I'll stay with you guys."

This should be interesting.

To say the least...


	11. Remembrance

AN: I'm not sure what kind of feedback I'm getting on this. Some of it's...I almost want to say questionable. Some of it's good, some of it's bad. Mostly good, though. But every now and then I get that one random person that goes "Wow" or some other word, and then makes a little instant messenger face or something. I hate having to decipher whether it's a 'wow' at what's going on in the story, at the story itself, at my ideas, I have no idea. Sorry this took so long to get up. So much drama. Friend's graduations. Just finished junior year...I begin my senior year. I'm taking summer school for gym cause I'm a stupid ass and thought it'd be cool to hang in the bleachers with my friends instead of actually participate. sigh life. Decisions. Here's some advice: just do gym class. I've failed it every year since 7th grade. Just do it. sigh

_**Medication**___

Chapter Eleven: Remembrance:

I wish I didn't...I don't even know. I don't know where they're taking me now. It seems like they're leading me towards this beat up shack that's next to Squee's house. I have no idea what it is. It looks like a mess...

That sign says 'Keep off the Loose Soil." What could that possibly mean? I'm scared...

I feel funny. I have this strange feeling of...What seems like nostalgia. Familiar and reminiscent, like something returning.

Devi has this face of...Utter distress. She's the one that's going to be needing therapy after this, I think.

"Devi...Squee, what is this place?" I asked, scared to break the imaginary sound barrier.

It's been quite a while since I've had my medicine. Right about now, I'd be taking my nightly dose, and making my dinner. Showering and dressing in my white Hone-O's t-shirt, and white boxers for bed.

"Nny, this is..." she said, kind of stumbling on her words. She looked at Squee with furrowed eyebrows. A look that kind of said –

Oh, God. Oh no. Sweet mother of pearl. No. It can't be! It's so filthy! NO!

"This is where you live." Devi said, slowly taking my hand.

Gosh darn it! Just what I had hoped she wouldn't say!

I sighed, and pressed my lips together. Well, I _do_ like to clean, so...It'll be a good task. Right? Right! My therapist says optimism, and this has to be the pinnacle of optimism.

We slowly walk into the shack-type thing.

"Squee I know there are levels, but I've never been down there. Will you...Y'know...Give him a tour?" Devi asked Squee.

He looked at her with a sarcastic face. "Do you think I was ever down there, Devi? I was a _CHILD_. On top of that, I was a _SCARED_ CHILD!" he said, his eyebrows furrowing, "Why would I ever venture down into that place? All the sc...Screams...They came from down there...The basements of this house..." Squee said, his whole body shuddering.

"If this was my house, do you mind if I take a look around?" I asked. Maybe some of this will jog my memory.

I really want to remember. It's kind of a frightening place though, so I'll bring them with me. Besides, if I remember things, I want to tell them. I want someone to share my re-birth with!

"Squee, maybe we shouldn't. Maybe we should just take him home...I just don't feel right about this. I don't." Devi said to Squee.

"No! Please, Devi. I want so desperately to know everything that went on. I need to know. I need to have it in me. For so long, I've known something was missing. Missing because you were still in my head. With all the medicine I've been on for so long, you really have to be something special to someone to stick with me for so long." I said. My eyes were burning a bit. I feel really tired.

But there's so much more to do. I need to know. I need to. It's just something that has to be done...

But even so, I feel as if I shouldn't know. I shouldn't know at all. I want to, no doubt. But...There's something obviously nefarious about the atmosphere in this house. I mean, here the three of us are still in the threshold of the house-shack thing and we still feel it. Something awful happened here. Something took place here that was evil.

And I was part of it. I aided in it or participated in some form.

This is hard for me to believe. I'd never hurt anyone.

But from the way the house feels...I would. I would hurt a lot of people if given the opportunity.

"Devi...Did I ever hurt anyone? Besides the vile man that tried to molest Squee?"

Devi gulped. "Just go look around. I'll answer questions after you get a good look."

I shakily walked into the house. The living room first. Raggedy couch encased in dust. A TV –

GOOD GOD! Were those...? NO! Ears of an actual rabbit?!

I feel sick now. But I must keep going.

I suddenly have this sinking in my tummy. My therapist would be furious if he knew I was here.

"Nny? You have a bed here you may or may not want to sleep in. I've never been in your room so I don't know what kind of condition it's in."

"You guys never made it that far." Squee said. Devi smacked him in the arm.

"What?" he asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

She sighed. "Men will always be the same, no matter the age, no matter the personality. The first thing you think about is sex." She said.

Squee looked offended. "That's not true! I'm not like that. I've never even had a girlfriend. It just seemed kind of...Obvious that you guys never – "

"Todd!" she cut him off.

"Well!" he said, holding back an obvious snicker.

I rolled my eyes. My therapist says I'm not allowed to have sex because I might have emotions for the girl I fornicate with. But one of the medicine's I take takes away my ability to perform should I get the urge. So it doesn't matter anyway.

I feel...

I feel a twinge upon entering the kitchen...There's red dried up _stuff_ all over the counter and on some of the sharp instruments in the sink. I see the tops of cans all over the place...

But...

I remember!

"I remember!!! Did I like skettio's?" I asked them.

"Yes. You lived on them almost, Nny." Squee says.

"YES!! I cut myself on a can of skettio's once! I borrowed a band-aid from you!" I say, looking at Squee.

"Nny, do you remember anything else about this house or the things that happened in it?" Devi asked, worry written on her face.

There was also something else there. Some other emotion that I can't describe. It...

I know what it is.

It's fear.

Devi...she fears me.

I did try to kill her, apparently.

Reasonable fear, I guess.

"Not yet. If I keep looking around though, I'm sure something will pop-"

I'm having a memory, or what seems like a memory.

A horrifying memory. This can't be me. This can't be me...

"My god...No..." I feel myself whisper.

I can see Devi out of the corner of my eye rush to me. I feel myself falling...I can't get up though.

"I wouldn't do that..." I say almost inaudibly. Considering the thoughts pounding through my head, I would say inaudibly is good.

"Nny? Do you remember something?" she asked.

"Yes...But you shouldn't know..."

"You can tell me anything, Nny. I won't be freaked out, I swear." She said. Her voice is almost kind enough for me to believe her. I feel like my naivety is slipping away.

"I remember...this girl. She was so beautiful...But it was only a shell. Skin deep, as the saying goes. I...I...God, I can't say it out loud."

"Tell me, Nny." She said.

"I pinned her to the wall by slamming a sickle through her head. I k...I killed...her. I killed her." I finally gasp out.

Devi clenched her jaw and I felt her body stiffen. Fear? Probably. I'd fear me, too.

"Devi, I'm so sorry." I say.

"You were troubled Nny. Do you remember anything after that?"

"I have a diary. I called it a die-ary."

"Do you remember what you wrote in it?"

"No." I lied.

I did remember. I had apparently learned a lesson.

I learned my beauty was neither skin deep or existent at all. I even _cursed_ in that entry in my diary! Unbelievable! Ghastly! And you know what I said? Its fuzzy but I remember. I said that...

Inside of me...

I'm...

I'm...

I'm pretty _fucking_ ugly.


	12. The Night

AN: It's been a while, not gonna lie. Sorry. I've been having some awful home problems. Mom didn't make it. We lost her on Halloween of '09. A man with a rifle could come into this computer room right now and point it in my face and I still wouldn't be as upset or scared as I was that night. Nervous breakdown, anyone?

_**Medication**__**:**_

Chapter Twelve: The Night

We were about to spend the night here. I decided that I'd take him downstairs tomorrow morning, after he could rest. But it didn't look like he'd be resting any time soon. He was racing around the room organizing everything and sweating profusely. He even found a cloth that he rinsed in rusty water from the faucet in the kitchen and was wiping things down with it.

I see him do this thinking, 'This is the first time most of these things have _ever_ been cleaned, since their creation.'

I find myself constantly trying to keep away the thoughts of what he used to be. If he could be well enough to want to clean stuff, then maybe he could be well adjusted member of society. Well, maybe not well-adjusted, but at least functional.

And definitely not doped up on personality-altering drugs 24 hours a day.

"Nny? Are you ok?" Squee asked, his eyes following Johnny around the room. The energy coming off him was electric. Neither of us could calm him down since his last flashback, so we just sat on the grubby couch.

"Just relax, and come sleep," I asked him. He's going to sleep, or I'm knocking him out because he's driving me nuts.

"I can't sleep, Devi. You don't understand. It's nerve-racking, being here. I don't know where to start. This place is filthy, it's a God-awful abomination." He said. He looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"We can HELP you clean it, but later. Maybe tomorrow after everything? And we can get something to eat, and you can take a bath after you're done cleaning. Does that sound good?" I said, trying to sound as convincing as I could. He was so wound up; if he didn't calm down he was going to have a frigging heart attack.

Oh man. If he really does have a heart attack, I could go to jail for taking him away from his regimented living. But this whole thing is just something that has to be done. He spent most of his life getting kicked around and when the actions he takes to get revenge or teach those who wronged him that they were, in fact, wrong, life screws him over and he goes nuts.

I'm not saying the things that he did were righteous or good in any way at all, but I could understand why. He just needed to use his brain to retaliate instead of his sharp stuff. If I can just bring that common sense back, that way of thinking back...I will stay by his side until he can be at least half normal. Well, I don't know if normal is the word, but at least mildly acceptable.

"...A shower? A meal? That all sounds nice, but how am I supposed to sleep if I don't have my medicine?" he asked me.

That was a good question. He probably had a strict regiment of sleeping pills and muscle-relaxers and whatever else they could pump into him to keep him sedated and as monotonous as they could make him.

"Didn't you say you were tired before? Aren't you exhausted? You should start learning to sleep without help from those fucking pills," I said. Remembering those pills sent stinging surges of anger through my chest.

He gave us this pained look and then I scooted over so he had room to sit on the couch with us and go to sleep.

I suddenly felt bad for Squee. He was doing all this, missing school tomorrow. He had a life now, but he wanted to do this for Johnny. I don't know what to say to either of them.

I can't get over why I want to help him so badly. Some part of me caved in when I saw him...The blonde hair, the blue contacts right down to the white shirt and sweater-vest. There's nothing left of him. His beliefs, his will power, and his vision of a world where everyone would just tolerate the way he chose to dress.

It actually makes me want to stab myself in the temple with a butter knife.

...Actually, I'd like to stab his therapist in the temple with a butter knife.

Nny sat down next to me finally, after an eternity of convincing. Sometimes his eyes twitch, I've noticed. I think it might be the meds.

I nudge Squee and discreetly nod towards it, telling him to watch Nny's eyes. He, too, sees the twitch and acknowledges it. He just shrugs.

"Nny, just take a deep breath and calm down, ok? You just need some rest. We can look through the basements tomorrow. It's a delicate and probably very difficult thing to do. You can't just force it all. I know you want to know, and I know your current lifestyle is pulling at you to come back to it, however forced upon you it may be. Just rest before you give yourself a heart attack. You have to let your body find a way to sleep without help if you ever want to be free." I told him, and for whatever reason, I put my hand on his. It's like ice.

I get a shock wave of emotion.

Ice.

Ice cold. That is what he is, deep down. He is an ice cold killer. And for some ridiculous reason I miss him, and want to bring that trait back upon the human race.

The human race.

Humanity.

The people in this city.

But...Before I found out he was an insane murderer...I agreed with him.

I did, didn't I?

I agreed that the people in this city "deserved to be looked down upon." I did.

...What does that make me?

Somewhere, deep down inside of me, I want him to kill his therapist. I can feel it. I deny it, but I want him to have his revenge. I want him to come back to reality, and lose his shit and cut things out of, and off of, that disgrace to human rights.

By saving Nny's freedom to choose how he lives, thinks, and exists, I am ultimately condemning myself to an eternity of repenting for what could possibly be the greatest sin to ever be committed against humanity.

I...Don't know how I should feel right now.

Maybe that's my problem. I don't know how I should feel right now. I don't know if what I'm doing is right or wrong, it's just what I feel needs to be done, regardless of which end of the scale of morality it lands on.

The man tried to kill me, and I'm helping him.

But I'm helping him for more reasons than just the possibility of having some deep, buried feeling for him...

Am I really helping him because he was doing what I wish I could've? He had the gumption to do something that most of us, at one time or another, wished we could. Is it possible that I have as many reasons for doing this as I do logical reasons for why it shouldn't?

I wonder if they'd catch him again. Someone's got to have noticed by now.

The only thing I can do to protect myself as well as Nny, and now probably Squee, is to restore Nny's ability and memory as quickly as possible. If anyone could have the determination to save me for saving him, and at the same time seek revenge, it'd be post-arrest Nny.

But...what if he resents me?

What if he...willingly relinquished his control over himself to the authorities? If he just wanted to stop suffering and be "normal", that's entirely possible...

I'm so tired and I'm not going to be able to sleep.

Too bad life doesn't have "Edit – Undo".


End file.
